


Have rum? Will travel

by BeeGeeWeeGee



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26272189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeeGeeWeeGee/pseuds/BeeGeeWeeGee
Summary: What kind of jobs are available to voodoo witch doctors? Dalton finds himself in a the regrettable situation of needing employment, but his resume is thin and unusual.
Kudos: 1





	Have rum? Will travel

“Dalton Betenrouge,” the perky young woman read slowly behind a large desk. She tapped a pencil on her teeth as she read. 

He wore a black wool suit, his Sunday suit as he thought of it, and a black silk shirt. The shirt had a texture that looked almost as if it were powdered in gray dust. The only color on him was a dark red bowtie. Dalton’s dark black skin and suit contrasted his deep red tie. His looks and movements in the suit gave the faintest hint of undertaker, something dark beyond the colors alone.

Dalton was uncomfortable in a chair designed for individuals far smaller than himself. He watched the woman read. Silent moments passed. His mouth was dry. 

“Dalton,” the woman said suddenly. “You have a very interesting resume.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Dalton’s voice boomed as his hands flew awkwardly in front of him. Nervous sweat trickled down the sides of his head on his cheeks and his palms felt cold.

“I’m a serious manager,” the woman said from behind the desk. “I take my work seriously and I expect to have my employees take their work seriously Dalton.”

“Yes ma’am, I am a serious hard worker,” Dalton said leaning forward. “And I am very interested in working as an aquatic activity coordinator of this fine hotel.”

“Really,” the woman said in a slow and sarcastic manner. “Some parts of your resume look, oh, how should I put it Dalton?” She paused and looked at him over her narrow glasses. “Maybe as not serious?”

“What do you mean, ma’am?” Dalton asked. His heart pumped loudly into his ears and he shrank into his chair as best as he could.

“Like your work history Dalton,” she said picking up the resume. “For your most recent employment, which turns out to be your only employment you put down ‘Practicer of the religion referred to in the western world as VooDoo or Vodun’ as your primary occupation and job experience.”

“Yes ma’am that is the truth,” Dalton said with a big smile. He felt relief. This was something he was prepared to explain. 

“Are you serious?” the woman asked slapping down the resume.

“As serious as death, ma’am,” Dalton replied. The room hung in the silence for a moment and Dalton noticed the quiet whisper of the forced air-conditioning. “I am the seventh generation practicing the art on my Mere’s side and fifteenth generation on my Papa’s side, according to my Grandmere.”

“So you’re some kind of Voodoo witch doctor?” the woman asked.

“I like to consider myself a praticer of the art,” Dalton said.

“Practicer is not a word,” the woman said sharply. She stopped and looked at Dalton in the eye. “You’re not joking are you?”

“No ma’am,” Dalton said. “Like I said before, I’m serious as,” he paused. “I’m real serious ma’am.”

“Well Dalton,” the woman glanced over the resume. “Why do you want to be an aquatic activity coordinator at this resort?”

“Ma’am, it goes something like this,” Dalton said hurriedly. “I like working for the Lord, he’s been good to me in many ways. However, the Lord, while providing many things, don’t provide much money. I need money, so I decided to look for a job that pays better than the Lord during the day and I can continue practicing the art at night. Being your aquatic activities coordinator looks like a good way to get what I’m looking for.” He stopped and waited for her reply.

The woman sat quietly and peered around for any telltale sign of deceit, but there appeared to be no cameras, no employees trying to jump out. Just Dalton’s eyes staring at her from across the desk.

“Ma’am,” Dalton said to the woman lost in thought. “I do have a question first. What does an aquatic activities coordinator do?”

Dalton walked into the _I and I_ to a chorus of “Hey man,” greetings from the scattered patrons. Wild beats of Shaggy wafted through the poorly lit room and Dalton sat himself at the bar. He was hot after the long walk.

“Dalton,” Jimmy said shaking his long dreadlocks and closing his notebook. “You’ve gotta help me with all these numbers, man.”

“You should have paid more attention in school,” Dalton said. Jimmy and Dalton knew each other since birth, although Dalton contends they may have met before then.

“I didn’t know you’d need numbers to run a bar,” Jimmy said. He stood up and put the notebook behind the bar. “All I wanted to do was serve some drinks, dance at night and go fishing.”

“You forgot women,” Dalton said smiling as Jimmy poured him a tall glass of water.

“I never forget women,” Jimmy said with a laugh. “What have they got to do with numbers?”

“They’re why you didn’t learn your numbers man,” Dalton said. While Jimmy was not the good student, Dalton was very, very sharp. Everyone expected him to go to a university, get away from the island. Dalton stayed and kept up with the family trade. _After all,_ he thought, _if I were a rich man and could do anything I wanted, I would live on this island, practice the art and stay with my friends._ Of course, that was a while ago. Now he wishes he were a rich man so he could do those things and have his own home.

“Ah, but women are a good reason not to learn those numbers man.” Jimmy said with a laugh. “So did you get the job?”

“I don’t think I got the job,” Dalton said after tipping his glass to his lips. “They said they would get back to me, but I think they meant no.”

“You can’t be drug down by the first rejection you get man,” Jimmy said. “You’ve got to keep trying, for God’s sake man, you’re twenty two years old. Your Mere is probably sick of you leaving your trash around the house and making noise all hours of the night. What if you get a serious girlfriend? You going to introduce her to your Mere at breakfast or when you get home with her?”

“Yeah man, you’re right,” Dalton said after swallowing half his glass. “Do you know what an aquatic activities coordinator does?”

“Not a clue man,” Jimmy replied wiping down the counter. 

“Me neither,” Dalton said. He starred at the water and wondered how complicated it was to coordinate its activities. 

A frantic man burst into the _I and I_. It was Martin a local fisherman and he looked pretty unhappy. “Dalton, we got a problem,” a Martin said hurriedly. “I was walking out by Sugar road when I saw him. I think Renard is back.”

“Renard?” Jimmy said. “He’s been dead what, two, three months?”

“I’ll go get him,” Dalton said. He followed Martin, grabbing a big white piece of chalk sitting on a shelf next to the pool table and his bag ‘o tricks on the way out.

“Sugar road eh?” Dalton said to Martin as they walked briskly.

“Yeah, he was heading toward town,” Martin said.

“He’s getting pretty far. The fresh ones do that.” Dalton wondered what Renard wanted to find in town. Renard had been dead for a while. Angry ones came back quickly, usually the first few weeks.

The two walked fast. It was not hard to catch a zombie, but Dalton didn’t want Renard getting into trouble. Renard’s wife was still in town and it wouldn’t be very pleasant for her to run into him. It wouldn’t be pleasant for anyone to run into him.

“This is where I saw him,” Martin said. 

Dalton glanced at Martin. Although he tried to hide it, Martin was pretty scared. He had the stiff walk that terribly uncomfortable people have when they are trying to be brave but just want to run like hell. Dalton felt like laughing, but kept a straight face. “Thanks Martin, I can take it from here.”

“You sure?” Martin asked as he walked quickly away from Dalton.

“Yeah, I’ll be all right,” Dalton said. He turned to look at the messy path Renard left behind. “I think I see where he went,” Dalton said as he looked back toward Martin, but he was already gone.

Dalton knelt down. He could smell the rain, the flowers and broken pieces of grass. It smelled like the afternoon, he thought to himself. He could also catch the lingering scents of a walking deadman, which were strong and pungent. They left a tangy metal taste in his mouth. _Yeah, about three months_ Dalton thought. He trotted along the trail Renard left under the dense forest next to Sugar road.

He knew he was close when the metallic taste permeated the air. Dalton reached into his bag and got out a little blue cloth bag. He sprinkled some powder in the air and watched it carry away on the wind. _That will distract him_ Dalton thought. The tricks with the dead were making them lose their purpose. Right now Renard was after something and Dalton didn’t know what that something was. He knew he’d have to be careful, when the dead are willing to leave the grave, someone just asking them to go back was unlikely to stop them.

Dalton saw Renard walking slowly in the forest. _Ah, it’s working_ Dalton thought. Renard looked terrible. After being buried for three months, a body goes through some pretty hideous transformations which are not enhanced by digging oneself out of their own grave. It was hard to tell, but this was Renard.

“Renard,” Dalton said slowly as he approached the meandering corpse. The last thing someone wanted to do was stand in front of a zombie with purpose, they were likely to tear right through you to get what they wanted.

“Gnnhh,” Renard said in typical distracted deadguy fashion. He was scratching all over his body. Dalton smiled, the powder worked wonders. _All you have to do is distract them and there is nothing like salt in the air to get a zombie itching._ Dalton had to be proud. He came up with the technique himself after catching zombies with his Grandpere one summer. Dalton noticed the zombies didn’t like the salt lines on the beach at all. 

Dalton walked with Renard until they reached a short wooden bridge. Dalton blew salt in the air until Renard stopped walking. Dalton got his chalk out and drew a circle around Renard, always keeping an eye on him. “So Renard, where are you going?” Dalton asked.

“Mmm, into town.” Renard kept itching and cursing under his breath.

“What’s so important in town?” Dalton asked. He had completed his circle and was now drawing other symbols on the bridge. With any luck, he’d have Renard contained in another moment.

“I neeeed a cigarette,” Renard said. There is something about when a dead person talks about what they need. You never get the feeling anyone ever needed anything until a dead person expresses some desire. There is something behind those words that gives them truer meaning. Dalton never smoked in his life, but suddenly felt a shaky urge to put anything in his mouth and light it on fire. He felt hot and cold, started a clammy sweat and was salivating. At least Renard didn’t want to kill anyone. 

Dalton finished the last symbol and Renard was contained. All the need for a cigarette disappeared and Dalton felt relieved. “Now that’s a new one Renard,” Dalton said as he flipped open his notebook and jotted down his thoughts. “Makes sense though, you dying of lung cancer.” Renard just itched and stared toward town. “Problem is I don’t have a cigarette on me,” Dalton said. He looked into his bag o’ tricks and did find some crushed tobacco seeds. “This is going to have to do,” Dalton said. He pulled the seeds out and said a few things under his breath. He tossed the seeds high into the air and when they landed on the ground, Renard vanished with a whump noise as air replaced where Renard had stood. _Cigarettes,_ Dalton thought. _Better carry a couple in the bag, those are powerful bad things._

He quickly erased the symbols on the bridge and glanced at the sun. _Not a bad day’s work_ he thought. _Still, doesn’t pay worth a damn._ He grabbed the bag o’ tricks and headed into town.

Dalton walked into the _I and I_ and sat down with a nice view of the mountains as the sun set behind them. They were on the east side of the Caribbean paradise; the one developers chose to leave to the locals. Working people have to live somewhere, but they don’t have to watch the sunsets. Dalton didn’t mind. Keeping the tourists on the western side meant less trouble for him. A few would venture into the _I and I_ , Jimmy liked their money but they danced so bad.

Jimmy walked over to the table with two glasses and Dalton listened to the Skatalites play _Guns of Navarone_ with a smile. Dalton reached into the bag o’ tricks and set down a bottle as Jimmy collapsed into the chair. Dalton brought his own rum to the I and I. It was Dalton’s secret recipe and Jimmy believed there was a little voodoo magic in it. By far, it was the best spiced rum these two had ever tasted, and they knew their rum.

“Renard give you any trouble?” Jimmy asked as Dalton opened the rum. Quiet scents whispered of Caribbean spices around the table.

“No more than my Mere did when I got home. You’d think leaving your Sunday clothes on the floor would kill somebody, the way she talks.” Dalton took a long slow sip from his glass.

“Bet the only one who’d get killed for it is you,” Jimmy said with a laugh.

“Quit laughing man,” Dalton said. “She’s startin’ to get on my back about movin’ out too!” He looked into his hands helplessly. “How am I going to make any money? The only thing I know is the art man.”

“That’s it,” Jimmy said slapping the table with his hand. “Can’t you voodoo up some money?”

“You think I could do that?” Dalton laughed. “If I could do that, you’d have a much bigger bar and some more pretty ladies walking around here, that’s for sure. No, there’s no getting rich with voodoo.”

“Damn,” Jimmy said. “How about selling some spells to tourists?”

“Tourists!” Dalton spat out the word. “Bah, all they want is to have sex, or kill people.”

“Don’t they want to get rich too?” Jimmy asked.

“No, they show up rich, after that it is just sex and death they’re interested in.”

“You could sell them spells to kill their enemies,” Jimmy said.

“After you meet these people you want to start killing them,” Dalton said. “Besides, I’m not into the killing thing, that’s a good way to get out of the business and meet the boss real quick.”

“How about the sex?” Jimmy was thinking there may be some business beyond the tourist market for this.

“Actually there is a pretty good potion for people looking for sex.” Dalton leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You want to know the secret?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said, leaning in close.

“Okay, but don’t tell anyone,” Dalton said looking around slowly. He handed Jimmy a big bottle under the table. “You both have to drink a lot of it, but it pretty often leads to some kind of nudity.”

Jimmy grabbed the bottle and brought it to his lap to look at it. It was another bottle of Dalton’s rum. “Man, this is just your rum.”

“And how often have you woke up to an empty bottle and a naked woman?” Dalton asked.

“Good point,” Jimmy said as he poured another glass for them. He took a drink and it was like the warmth of the dawn sun diffusing over dew-laden flowers. He could taste the vanilla, ginger, some cinnamon and clove melt over his tongue, diffuse through his sinuses and leave a warm feeling through to his core. “You know, we’re thinking about this voodoo stuff all wrong,” Jimmy said. “We have to think more sneaky to get money from it.”

“How sneaky?” Dalton asked.

“Talk with some dead folks, they may have left some money somewhere.” Jimmy was not a practitioner of the arts, but knew Dalton could do some interesting things.

“You ever talk with dead people?” Dalton asked. “They are pretty nuts. It is always me, me, me. I think they get that way because they don’t get to talk to a whole lotta people. Besides, who leaves buried treasure anyway. Mostly it’s in banks and if someone has money and dies, there are a whole lotta people who are going after it right away. I’d be in the back of the line.”

“True, true,” Jimmy said. They sipped their rum silently over the jumbled sounds of broken conversations in the bar. “Man, we’re going about this all wrong. You gotta get money from rich folks.”

“Yeah, but we don’t know any rich folks,” Dalton said.

“Isn’t there some new big industry coming to the island?” Jimmy asked.

“You know, I’m not sure,” Jimmy said. As Jimmy sat back and thought two sunburned males wandered into the _I and I_ wearing Teva sandals and t-shirts commemorating the sigma theta Winnebago trip to El Paso. A poor digital rendition of Sweet Home Alabama overtook the sounds of Parliament wafting through the bar.

“Dude, I’m totally in a local bar man,” one sunburned male said into his cell phone. He suffered from that syndrome where individuals feel the need to yell directly to the person they are speaking to on the phone, even if they are six hundred miles away and assisted by satellite technology. “They’re like playin’ reggae and stuff and it’s totally awesome.”

“Oh yeah, I remember,” Jimmy said slowly. “Phones. They just built that factory making cell phones man.”

Dalton looked at Jimmy with sad eyes. George Clinton brought Parliament’s song to a close in the background and the bar was treated with a momentary lull of silence.

“No dude, I haven’t gotten laid,” the sunburned male informed the patrons of _I and I_.

Dalton raised his glass to Jimmy and they clicked a toast. “Phones man, phones mean freedom,” Dalton said with a faint sparkle in his eye. “Freedom.”

“You go talk with the factory tomorrow man, they will set you up. And change your resume, take that voodoo off it.” Jimmy finished his drink. “It may be torture, but that’s what jobs are.” Jimmy nodded his head towards the two sunburned males.

“Thanks Jimmy,” Dalton said. He reached down and grabbed his bag o’ tricks, eyeing the two sunburned tourists. “You may want to serve them this,” Dalton said handing Jimmy a small orange bottle. “It may make the rest of their trip interesting. I’d wait until they dropped all the money they can tonight.” Jimmy nodded and took the small bottle. “Not all work has to be torture.”

***

“And this is the bench where you will be performing quality assurance,” the slightly overweight American said in a nasally New York accent. He was pale, with a pseudo moustache, the kind that young teenage males grow before they have enough testosterone to grow a real mustache. However, this man was in his late twenties and probably would never grow a full caterpillar on his lip. His name was Randy Swindicker. He had just been thrust into the vaunted position of middle management and loved every waking moment of it. “Betina will be working with you,” Randy motioned to the girl sitting at the other bench in the tiny room. Betina looked up from behind her large glasses and waved. She was a small woman of mixed German Caribbean decent, hidden behind an enormous pile of cellular phones. 

“Good morning Mr. Swindicker,” Betina said in her timid, tiny voice. 

“Betina, how many of the series four ASK800 phones are ready for shipment this week?” Randy asked in an imperious tone. 

Betina bit her lip. It was Tuesday morning and phones shipped on Friday. She had gotten twenty-five phones from manufacturing that morning and who knows how many more would arrive during the rest of the week. She felt the warmth of uncontrolled anger burn across her shoulders as she had no idea when and what phones arrived from manufacturing. Her face flushed. “I’m not sure,” Betina said. “Maybe 100?”

“That’s not good enough Betina,” Randy said. “Management expects 240 out this week, you need to step up!” Randy turned to Dalton. “You also need to train Dalton.” Randy smiled mercilessly and wiggled his way between the crowded benches to the door. “Good luck you two, I’m sure you’ll get along. I’ll be checking up on you.”

After the door closed Betina threw her head back and gave a small roar to the fluorescent lights. “He is evil,” she said to Dalton. “Make no mistake, he is evil and he will be checking on us.”

Dalton looked at the small woman and the pile of phones and began to wonder what circle of hell he managed to get himself into. For freedom he thought to himself. “I’m Dalton,” he said offering his hand. 

“I’m sorry,” Betina said as her rage subsided and her color returned from pink to pale. “I’m Betina, it will be good to work with you.”

A phone on Betina’s desk rang. It was not a catchy tune, but a real office type ringing. Betina sighed and held her hand up to Dalton. She grabbed the phone and said in a sweet voice “This is Betina.” Dalton looked her in the eye and thought her face said something along the lines of _Hot atomic death, how may I take your call?_ “No Mr. Swindicker I have not completed more ASK800 phone QAs yet.” She paused and Dalton could hear faint nasal words spilling from the phone. “I’m working on Dalton’s training right now,” she said. Dalton smiled nervously. “Yes sir, I will get on the ASK800s right away.” She hung up. Dalton opened his mouth to say something but she raised her hand in the air to stop him. “Wait for it,” she said. 

The phone rang. It was a different phone from before. Dalton slowly turned to realize the phone ringing was behind his bench. He wandered over behind the bench, looked at Betina and pointed to the phone. Betina just nodded.

“Hello?” Dalton said as he picked up the receiver. 

“Dalton?” Randy Swindicker asked.

“Hello Randy,” Dalton said.

“Dalton, you are to answer the phone by stating your name and you are to address me as Mr. Swindicker, are we clear?”

“Uh, yes,” Dalton said slowly.

“Yes what?” was the reply.

“Yes Mr. Swindicker,” Dalton said. He was suddenly beginning to get the idea.

“Good Dalton. Now, how is your training going?” Mr. Swindicker asked.

“Just fine Mr. Swindicker. Betina is teaching me a lot.”

“Don’t take too much of her time, we need those ASK800s fast. You need to step up! I’ll be checking on you.” Mr. Swindicker hung up. Dalton stared at the phone for a moment and then put the receiver down. He had a bad feeling in his stomach. Betina was looking at Dalton with sympathetic eyes.

“Every fifteen minutes,” she said. “The first week is the hardest, but after a while you can answer his questions while actually working.”

“I’m going to die,” Dalton said.

“No,” Betina replied. “But you will plan on killing someone fairly often.”

***

The _I and I_ was crowded that evening. It was classic ska night and a pirate themed Desmond Dekker cover band called Ska and Bones was pumping out skankin’ beats. Dalton looked haggard as he stepped up to the bar. He had been working two weeks at the quality assurance job and was exhausted. 

“Where have you been man?” Jimmy asked.

“Working,” Dalton said as he pulled a bottle of rum from his bag o’ tricks. “Working hard.”

“All the time?” Jimmy laughed.

“I’ve been reading too,” Dalton said. He looked annoyed. “I’m not, I don’t know, how do I put it?” Dalton sighed. “I’m not master of my domain. I don’t know everything yet.”

“Man, it has only been two weeks,” Jimmy said. “It must take a while.”

“But there is a lot I don’t know and I don’t want to ask anyone,” Dalton said. “It will make me look stupid.”

“But you’re a smart man Dalton,” Jimmy said.

“Not about phones I’m not,” Dalton replied. “I don’t even have one at home.”

“That’s true man,” Jimmy said. “So what don’t you know, they aren’t that hard.”

“I don’t know stuff that people take for granted,” Dalton said. “Like the button at the bottom of the phone, it says MUTE. What the hell does MUTE mean anyway.”

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “Mutation?”

“That’s what I thought too,” Dalton said. “Except the wiring and circuits for it are all wrong man. All it will do is cut off the microphone in the receiver. They’re making these phones all wrong.”

“So what are you going to do?” Jimmy asked.

“I don’t know man,” Dalton said. “My boss is driving me crazy, he calls every fifteen minutes to find out what I’ve done and yell at me for going too slow. I like figuring out how the phone works, but this man is really pushing me.”

“You should give him the orange bottle,” Jimmy said and started laughing.

“Orange bottle?” Dalton asked. He had totally forgotten giving it to Jimmy two weeks ago. 

“Those two Americans that came in, sunburned and loud,” Jimmy said laughing harder. Dalton gave a look of recognition and grabbed the notebook from his bag o’ tricks.

“What happened to them?” Dalton asked. “I haven’t tested the orange bottle.”

“Oh man,” Jimmy said laughing extremely hard. “Those boys had no idea what hit them, and actually no one else does either. They drank a lot of rum man, I mean a lot of rum. By the end of the night, they were trying to pick fights and insulting all the beautiful ladies in my bar. I had enough, so to end a fight, I told them they could have a free drink if they’d leave after that. I opened up the orange bottle and it smelled like sunshine sweetness in the room. Those were two happy boys when they took their shots and then they decided to just go.”

“They did what they were told?” Dalton asked as he wrote furiously in his notebook.

“They did just as I asked them. I said ‘Get out’ and they got out.” Jimmy started to laugh uncontrollably again. “Then the next morning we found both of them hanging naked in a tree by their feet, just outside of Port street church, on their front lawn. They were sound asleep. One was painted blue, the other was painted red!” Jimmy couldn’t control his laughter at this point. Dalton was laughing too and wrote everything down. “The funny thing is, there was a chicken leg hanging out of one guy’s bum.” Jimmy’s eyes were tearing and he had trouble breathing. Dalton laughed hard too and tried to keep writing, but couldn’t.

“The real question here is,” Dalton said dropping the pen, “where is the rest of the chicken?” Both broke down in hysterics.

***

“Dalton, I borrowed some of your sugar,” Betina said as Dalton walked into their workroom. 

“What?” Dalton said. He had just returned from delivering 200 phones to shipping. The past few weeks had improved for Dalton. He finally felt that he understood the world of cellular phone quality assurance. He studied circuit design in his time off and put together a plan to fix the MUTE problem. His work output also improved. Mr. Swindicker was never happy with Dalton or Betina’s performance, but both had managed to find a way to work efficiently between Randy’s phone calls. 

“While you were out Randy called and told me to get him some coffee,” Betina said. “They were out of sugar, so I grabbed some from your bag.”

Dalton looked down at his bag o’ tricks. Suddenly he felt his heart drop into his feet. A cold sweat of fear broke out all over Dalton and he knew the meaning of panic. “Betina, I have no sugar in my bag?”

“Yeah?” she said casually and drank from her own cup of coffee. “It looked and tasted like sugar anyway, what is it some kind of sugar substitute? I didn’t know you were on a diet?”

Dalton started feeling ill. “What color bag was it?” he asked, fearing the worst.

“The orange one,” she said. “There were a couple of powders, but the blue and orange bags had white ones. The blue is salt, but the orange is pretty sweet.”

Dalton sat down and closed the bag. He felt that grief for a moment which you cannot pluck from time, a moment where he should have done something else and now had to deal with the consequences. “Betina, do you take your coffee with sugar?”

“Nope,” she said. “Just Randy. I delivered that new SK880 phone to him, you know the one with the camera and karaoke features. It is the prototype, he almost looked happy.”

Dalton hesitated. Betina didn’t notice anything strange with Randy. Maybe he would be all right. Betina seemed fine, but then again, she didn’t drink coffee with sugar. 

“How are you feeling Betina?” Dalton asked slowly.

“Just fine,” she said in a chipper voice. “I feel great. Randy hasn’t called in almost an hour.”

Dalton felt his stomach lurch. If Randy had not called, something went awry. “Betina, take a look at me,” Dalton said slowly. “Do I look all right?”

“Sure Dalton, you look fine,” she said as she worked. “Except for the glowing around you, you’re totally normal.”

_Oh no_ Dalton thought to himself and sat down behind his pile of phones. Betina had tasted the orange powder, which was pretty sweet. Dalton had been experimenting with the material and found it was very effective. The drink Jimmy served the American tourists was the same substance. 

“Betina, you should probably head home and rest,” Dalton said slowly as he got up.

“But I feel fine, what if Randy calls,” Betina said.

“Randy probably won’t call,” Dalton said. He sighed and made a quick decision. “You remember how I was telling you I have this voodoo hobby? It’s a little more than a hobby. That stuff you gave Randy in his coffee is not sugar or a substitute. It was a strong potion designed to let the user see into the spirit world.” Dalton waited for Betina’s reaction.

“I better go home,” Betina said as she grabbed her things.

“Things will look pretty strange to you tonight, but don’t worry,” Dalton said. The spirit world is a place that mirror’s one’s soul. A good person sees many good things, mostly things they recognize and that are like themselves. A bad person has the same thing happen, they see things that are like themselves. A person will attract the spirits they are most similar to. However, not many people get any training in walking through a visible spirit world. The experience can be dangerous as Dalton well knew. “You’ll be fine, just get home and relax.” He was less worried about Betina, she had only a little taste of the potion and was fundamentally a good person.

“What are you going to do?” Betina asked as she gathered her things to leave. Dalton grabbed his bag o’ tricks. 

“I’m going to find Randy,” Dalton said as he went through the door. “I hope.”

****

Dalton arrived at the _I and I_ and met Jimmy at the bar. “What’s so important man?” Dalton asked. It was the middle of the day and Dalton had been working diligently training a new QA person. Work had been much easier since Randy left. Betina was promoted to Randy’s position and their productivity had increased with Betina’s new management style. Dalton also had time to work out the problem with the MUTE button and believed he had finally figured it out. All was well in the employment world except for one minor detail. They never determined what happened to Randy Swindicker.

“Not here,” Jimmy said with a big grin on his face. “We’ll need a table, come on.” Jimmy led Dalton to the back of the _I and I_. Dalton sat down with his back to the wall, facing the room. 

“What’s going on Jimmy?” Dalton did not like missing work. Although it was not the job he would chose for himself, he worked very hard at it. He needed to get a promotion to make more money and he knew it would be a long struggle to eventually be able just to move out of his Mere’s house. However, he was doing it for freedom, and that sustained him.

“Last night Dalton, a man came into the bar, a guy named Bob Columbo.” Jimmy could barely sit in his chair he was so excited. “He looked like an ordinary tourist, so I served up some rum to him. He said ‘this is no rum, give me something good.’ Now I like a guy who knows his rum, so I served him something better. Bob said, ‘I’ve heard you have the best rum on the island, but I guess I heard wrong.’ Now this was a challenge, so I grabbed your bottle and said to him ‘Yeah, you did hear wrong, this isn’t the best rum on the island,’ and poured him a shot. He took a drink and his eyes lit up. I told him ‘this is the best rum in the world.’ Bob said, ‘you know you are probably right.’ Isn’t that great?”

“So this guy likes my rum?” Dalton asked. “You dragged me out here to tell me that, man?

“No, no, no Dalton,” Jimmy said. “The man is a rum distributor to the United States and Europe, he wants to sell your rum!” Jimmy slapped Dalton’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be rich, man, rich!” They both started laughing.

“Man, I can’t believe it.” Dalton looked as though he would cry. “So what do I have to do?”

“Bob is coming to meet us here,” Jimmy said. “That’s why I called you out.” 

“Afternoon Jimmy,” a large older man in a Hawaiian shirt said, clamping his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. Jimmy turned and stood up.

“Dalton, this is Bob Columbo, Bob Columbo, this is Dalton,” Jimmy said, moving to the other side of the table. After the greetings and handshakes everyone sat down.

“So Jimmy tells me you’re the master behind this rum,” Bob said.

Dalton smiled. “I sure am, I’m glad you like it.” He had butterflies in his stomach. Suddenly he got an odd taste in his mouth.

“Like it?” Bob said. “That’s not saying much for the best spiced rum I’ve ever tasted. That’s saying a lot for an old guy like me.”

“Well thank you very much,” Dalton said. The odd taste was growing. _What could it be?_ Dalton wondered. It was faintly metallic.

“Jimmy, why don’t you pour us a glass of this rum?” Bob said.

“Right away,” Jimmy said getting up.

“So you make this yourself?” Bob asked.

“Yes sir, it is a family recipe that I’ve modified,” Dalton said. He had an uneasy feeling that he knew what the taste was. Suddenly a very bad smell permeated the _I and I_. Dalton began to sweat. Now was not a good time for dead folks to be wandering around. He casually tipped over the saltshaker on the table. “Uh, let me get that,” Dalton said and grabbed a napkin to whisk the salt off the table into the air.

“What is that smell?” Bob asked. The other patrons were looking around and Jimmy had a very puzzled look on his face. Dalton grabbed his bag of tricks and got up.

“Let me check on Jimmy,” Dalton said. “It’s likely the catch coming in from the sea this morning had something bad in it.”

Dalton ran behind the bar and threw as much salt as he could in the air. The salt he had in the blue bag was crushed in a mortar pestle to make it as fine as the air could take it. The smell kept getting worse and worse. “Jimmy,” Dalton said. “Run outside and see who it is, or was, rather. I’ll serve up the drinks.”

Jimmy trotted out the door and Dalton sat back down with Bob. “Cheers,” Bob said raising his glass.

“Cheers,” Dalton said a little distracted. The rum brought a pleasant escape to the terrible smells permeating the _I and I_. 

“Where did Jimmy go?” Bob asked.

“He had to check on something,” Dalton said distracted. He hoped the salt was holding whoever it was in place, but had no idea where they were. He needed to get out and see what was going on firsthand.

“Ah, it is as good as the first night,” Bob said. “Dalton, I think I want to market your rum. I need a few bottles to bring back to my company, but I’m sure we can sell lots of it for you.”

“That is wonderful,” Dalton said. “I can get the bottles to you soon.” Jimmy burst into the room and put his hands palms up in the air and gave a look that clearly indicated he had no idea who was approaching the bar.

“Good I’ll be leaving Thursday morning, we can meet then.” Bob was beginning to get a nervous look on his face. The whole crowd at the _I and I_ was getting anxious. Two men playing pool began the low tones of an argument. Another man dropped his drink and just walked out. Dalton knew this was not good. Whoever it was, was still moving and that meant the salt had no effect. This dead body was clearly on a mission.

Dalton was anxious to find some way to get out and see what was going on, who was coming and then start working on stopping them. Suddenly his cell phone rang. He had recently started carrying one and it played the theme to the Munsters. “I’m sorry,” Dalton said as he picked up the call.

“Dalton,” Betina said in a shrill voice. “Dalton, thank God it’s you. I just saw Randy, Randy Swindicker, he’s walking around town and he does not look good.”

“Ah,” Dalton said in a nearly calm voice. Even bad news is sometimes better than not knowing anything. Dalton came up with a fast plan. “Can you give me Mr. Swindicker’s number, you remember the number for the SK880 you gave him just before he left?”

“Oh, yeah I’ve got it,” Betina said after a moment’s hesitation. She had no idea why Dalton would be interested in Randy’s number. She read it to Dalton quickly.

“Thanks,” Dalton said. “Swing by the _I and I_ when you get the chance, I’ve got something for you.” He hung up and looked at Bob. “Sorry about that, my day job calling me.”

“Yeah, soon you won’t be so dependent on that,” Bob said with a grin. “So, now we come to some formalities. I’ll be bringing your rum back to my company to do a few taste tests and determine what kind of marketing strategy we’re looking for. I’m anticipating high end which means lower production for you, does that sound good?”

“Yes it does,” Dalton said eyeing the door cautiously. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed the number under the table, resting his finger on the send button. Dalton hoped everything would work.

“Great, I’ll get that set up and have the lawyers start drawing up a contract for you to look over. You have a lawyer?” Bob asked.

“Nope, not yet. But I’ll be getting one soon,” Dalton said. Sweat was dripping down his brow and the crowd noise in the bar raised in pitch. The pool players actually broke into a fight and Jimmy hurried over to keep a brawl from breaking out in the bar. _He’s coming_ Dalton thought.

“Great Dalton,” Bob said. “Now shall we shake on it like gentlemen?”

As Bob rose out of his chair to shake Dalton’s hand, the door flew open to the _I and I_ and Randy Swindicker’s corpse walked in, itching like hell and looking extremely angry. Randy lurched forward, eyes on Dalton and seething in his post mortem hatred. It looked as though Randy had fallen into the sea during the weeks of his disappearance and he was much worse for the wear. He emitted classic dead guy VENGEANCE WILL BE MINE energy and the bar was extremely disturbed. Dalton hit send on his phone and rose up to shake Bob’s hand.

Randy’s phone rang a very short rendition of Living la Vida Loca and he immediately stopped lurching toward Dalton. It was just the distraction Dalton could provide that would seize this particular corpse’s attention. “Gnnhh?” Randy said, or something very similar to that, as he pulled the phone from the handy holder on his belt and flipped the receiver on. Dalton quickly pushed the MUTE button as he and Bob Columbo shook hands and Randy was transformed into a small pot bellied pig. 

The crowd in the _I and I_ observed the transformation quietly and was awfully relieved to have the zombie anger disappear. Dalton winked at Jimmy who was standing between two large, less angry fellows who appeared to rapidly forget what was bothering them. “Thank you Mr. Columbo, I look forward to seeing you again soon,” Dalton said.

“Me too Dalton,” Bob said. “Me too.” He turned to leave and ran into the zombie turned pot bellied pig. “Oh how cute, my niece has one of these cuddly little guys,” he said picking the pig up.

Betina walked into the bar looking extremely nervous. “Betina,” Dalton said. “I’ve got a present for you, a new pet.” Dalton motioned toward Bob holding the pig. “I think you should call him Randy,” and he smiled.


End file.
